waiting
by Fluffy Bunnies Are So Cute
Summary: She'd see the same seniors at the entrance, and she'd see their hopeful faces drop as they were told that their family was too busy to take them home. She wished them to have hope and keep holding on. For there was nothing worse than fears to be translated into words, because once spoken, they no longer are a figment of one's imagination; they become a tormenting part of reality.


**waiting**

_A Percy Jackson and the Olympians Short Story_

By Fluffy Bunnies Are So Cute

With the old age catching up to her, Sally Jackson was placed into one of the finest nursing homes in New York. Life was lax, simple, and easy. She was cared for and didn't have to worry about anything strenuous.

The nursing home for elders was nice. It was quaint, homely, and warm, full of young adults who enthusiastically helped its denizens with every need. The rooms were nice, the food was exquisite, but there was a dismal aura that surrounded every building and hid in every corner.

During the holiday seasons, she'd gather herself up in a pile of jackets with the assistance of a volunteer, and sit outside in the courtyard on a bench. Sometimes it snowed, but despite the assistant's protests of her catching a cold, she sat out there under the falling snowflakes.

They twinkled under the sun, the small, frosty icicles lathering every surface it came in contact with. If she looked up at the sky, they'd fall on her nose, her rosy cheeks, her outstretched tongue, and she'd feel utterly tranquil where she sat.

Sally could see most everything that was going on from the bench. Her effulgent blue eyes took in everything of her surroundings; even the most gloomy of things.

While she sat peacefully on the bench outside in the biting cold, some of her companions would prepare to get picked up by their families for the weekend. She'd see their bright, oldened faces wrinkle with a subtle delight as they got ready.

Their jackets would be buttoned to the brim, their scarves would be perfectly snug so no warmth would slip out, and their graying heads would be carefully wrapped in a hat. They'd make their way to the waiting room at the front of the nursing home, and through the large window that opened to the courtyard, Sally could see them sit on a cushioned chair, clasp their hands in their laps with a serene smile on their faces, and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And when the visiting hours had came and went, she'd see an assistant sympathetically help them back to their rooms, help them discard their winter garments, and tuck them into their lonesome beds. And despite the light being out in their barren rooms, she could sense the traces of an expectant smile, replaced with abandonment.

Her heart wrenched for them as she would back to her own empty room, open up a drawer to a small, wooden desk, and extract a picture of her own son, his beautiful wife, and darling children. She'd say a prayer to keep them safe, carefully tuck the picture back into the drawer, and fall into a quiet slumber.

The next day, Sally would wake up and do her routine in a perfunctory manner. She'd see the same seniors get called to the entrance of the nursing home, and she'd see their warm, hopeful faces drop as they were told that their beloved ones were too busy to pick them up for the holiday, and that they wished him or her a blessed weekend.

And again, her heart wept for them.

Her fingers would quiver with sympathy for her acquaintances, and she wished them to have hope, and keep holding on. There was nothing harder than to be put up to your worst fears, point blank. For there was nothing worse than fears to be translated into words, because once spoken aloud, they no longer are a figment of one's imagination; they become a living, breathing, tormenting part of reality.

Was it really such a hassle to take thirty minutes to an hour to pick up their own family? Could one really be entirely too busy, such that they'd completely disregard their kin?

With every destroyed hope of another, the nursing home became darker and melancholic. With Christmas Eve drawing near, the once jovial nursing home quickly was becoming shrouded with a fatal black.

She noticed this all from her bench, always looking in.

Christmas Eve came in less than a week, and with most of the residents staying at the nursing home for the holiday, all Sally could see from her bench was blackness. Utter, cynical blackness.

It was an unusually chill day, Sally noticed. The wind bit across her red-tinted cheeks on her otherwise pale face with a harsher swipe. The cold penetrated the layers of her jackets swiftly and with ease. It must be all this darkness, Sally thought with a sense of finality.

It was then that she decided she must do something about it.

So she got up from her bench and made her way into the well-illuminated entrance building to the nursing home. She requested to speak to the head person, which they immediately obliged.

Once she was seated in one of the plush chairs in the supervisor's office, she told him of her intentions. And by the time she left the office, there was a smile on her face, so bright, that if one looked close enough, one could see the faint, glimmering outline of her youth.

This time, as she exited the entrance building, Sally didn't return to her bench. No, she retired to her room and simply waited until the time would come. There was a part of her that yearned for a phone call from home… but most of her did not want to be disappointed, or a bother.

She settled with staring at the picture once more, and just doing that lit a match of serenity in her. Hours passed, and just around dinner time, she heard the faint buzz of Christmas carols.

From her bedroom window, she could see the courtyard glittering from the trillions of snowflakes, reflecting the light of a plethora of dainty candles. And beside the door of the dining hall, stood a group of singing volunteers, wrapped tightly in winter coats, as they awaited the arrival of all the residents.

Knocks sounded throughout the corridors of the dormitory, and Sally covered her body with a long, wool jacket, pulled on a pair of warm slippers, and headed towards the dining hall.

She smiled warmly at the kind volunteers who held the door to the dining hall open, and chose a seat at the table which was now covered with a wide array of food. There would be enough for seconds, thirds, even, and upon seeing the pleasantly surprised faces of her companions, she smiled yet again, this time, to herself.

Sally would let them think that the caring volunteers had planned this all for them… as long as everyone's fires were kindled once again, she would be satisfied.

They shared a Christmas Eve feast, and everyone was the most lively Sally had seen them than the entire time she had sat on her bench. And when dinner ended, they all retreated back to their rooms, only this time, they were not being deserted, they were not being discarded. Rather, it was more like they were being... reborn.

And so, Sally went to bed overjoyed that this black cloud of gloom was finally being retracted. If only the one that hovered over her would fade away.

The next morning, she got a phone call.

Like she had seen so many times, she prepared herself to wait. She prepared herself to possibly get picked up. She prepared herself to be disappointed.

In the afternoon, Sally tightened her jacket around her frail body, and carefully wrapped her scarf around her neck. She made sure her ears were covered by the hat she had placed on her head, and that her shoes were tied properly, and then she made her way to the entrance of the nursing home.

She sat down on a comfortable chair, clasped her hands together, settled them in her lap, and patiently began to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Visiting hours was coming to an end, and as she peered out the window, into the darkness, she wished that she had prepared herself better.

But just as an assistant came to take Sally back to her room, the entrance to the nursing home flew open with a burst of cold air and snow.

It took Sally a moment for her eyes to adjust, but when the snow finally cleared, she saw four smiling faces, before two of them came to tackle her with hugs. "Merry Christmas, Grandma!"

She kneeled down to engulf them both in her arms, blinking back tears, as she took in the bright, innocent, rosy faces of her grandchildren. Standing back up, her beautiful daughter in law, Annabeth, came to give Sally a hug, her long, blonde hair pulled back.

When she let go of her, Sally turned to face her son, who smiled down at her, giving her a large hug. Tears fell out of her eyes, tears of happiness, joy, relief, and he whispered, "Merry Christmas, Mom."

**I've been itching to write this for a while... and yes, I know it's not Christmas... yet c:**


End file.
